Exhausted, hungry and overwhelmed, Callan took refuge for the night in a small clearing. He crawled beneath some bushes, the closest to nature he could find in this odd place, wrapped up in his plaid and tried to sleep.
Mayhap in the morn he would wake to find ’twas all a strange dream brought on by Samhain and the spirits roaming the earth.
When morning came, Callan roused himself. His body ached, but his mind was clearer. If he could not go back to his own time and to the brother he had only just found, then he must find a way to make his way in this strange place.
How to go back, he had no idea, so first he would eat and find a place to stay.
Then mayhap someone here might know how to send him back to his own time. Surely in this strange place there were powerful witches who could aid him?
Callan wanted to go back and get to know William. To stay at Blackford and make a life. In time he had hoped to find awife and have babes of his own that might play with Lucy’s children. The clan had forsaken him, so Callan had thought to make a new start at Blackford.
He wandered aimlessly, attempting to fit in, but no one wore a plaid, though some wore an odd version of a tunic and hose. And not a single person went about armed. ’Twas a strange land. Did they not have war here?
As the morning wore on, hunger drove Callan to a busy market. The scent of freshly baked bread made his stomach growl loudly. Approaching a bread stall, Callan reached into his boot, pulling out a few coins he had tucked away.
He offered them to the vendor in exchange for a loaf of bread. The man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What kind of funny money is that?” he asked gruffly.
Confused, he pulled out the green paper. The man took it, rolled his eyes and gave Callan back more green paper than he had given him. Ah, ’twas money. What kind of money was made of paper?
The hot bread was delicious with a meat he had never tasted. As he stuffed half of the roll into his mouth, the flavor making him groan in pleasure, melted butter ran down his chin. He went back and bought another.
“What is this strange meat?”
The food vendor arched a brow. “Think you’re funny? It’s a lobstah roll, you idiot.”
Callan liked this lobster.
Weaving through the crowded market, Callan accidentally bumped into a man hurrying past. The man yelled and shoved Callan, who instinctively reached for where his dagger would normally be sheathed. Finding nothing, Callan quickly dropped his hand and backed away.
His actions caught the eye of a nearby man dressed in auniform. The man approached Callan, eyeing his strange clothing. “What’s your deal buddy? You lost?” he asked in a distrustful tone.
Not wanting a fight, Callan turned and ran as the man shouted for him to stop. He chased Callan, but he was slow and quickly fell behind as Callan ran like the devil himself was after him.
Eventually, he made it back to the green area. The sign called it a park. There was no sign of the man, so Callan tried again to look like he belonged.
There were many people out, walking and talking, laughing and looking at strange boxes as they walked.
He made his way to a tree and sagged down in relief, resting his head against the rough bark. Though his St. Christopher medal was gone, he sent up a prayer to the saint that he might find aid in this strange place and someone would know how to send him back to his own time.
As if in answer, a dog ran over to him, tail wagging, a blue band around its neck.
“Hey, sorry about that. Frankie loves everyone.”
A woman stood before him, wearing odd blue hose and some type of wool shirt. She had verra fetching legs, long brown hair, and kind eyes.
“I’m Daisy.” She smiled at him, taking in his plaid, then smiling.
“Callan Graham.”
“Oh, I love a Scottish accent.” She sat down beside him, petting the dog.
“Were you part of the Renaissance Faire? I love your costume!” She added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I pretend I live in medieval times, too.”
Callan shook his head, trying to make sense of her words.Costume? Renaissance Faire? She thought he was simply dressed up. Mayhap she could aid him?
“Aye, lady,” he said, dragging out his words. “But the fair ended and I find myself lost.”
The woman named Daisy drank water from a bright blue cup, the likes of which he’d never seen before.
